


The Great Cheese War of 2019

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Savvy's Holiday Fic [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 2019, Cheese, Christmas, John's complicit, M/M, Sherlock is a Brat, advent calendars, background Johnlock, day 12 prompt, marital discord, who ate the cheese?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Every year the Holmes-Lestrade household celebrates Christmas in style. One of their traditions is to buy a different advent calendar. This year it's cheeses-of-the-world. The only problem is, SOMEONE ate the cheese.
Relationships: Johnlock, Mystrade - Relationship
Series: Savvy's Holiday Fic [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558120
Comments: 24
Kudos: 88
Collections: Kat's Johnlock Xmas 2019, Mystrade Holiday 2019





	The Great Cheese War of 2019

**Author's Note:**

> Day 12 Prompt Advent Calendar
> 
> An argument over cheese might seem silly, but my roommate once got into a screaming match with me over a slice of American cheese--and I hadn't even eaten it.

Mycroft’s lips were pinched. Controlling his breathing, he shrugged into his overcoat, movements precise.

“My, where are you?”

His eyes narrowed slightly at his husband’s tone. “Leaving.”

Greg could be heard coming down the hallway toward the front door, “You just got home, didn’t you? I thought I heard the chime when you came in, I was in the shower..”

“Yes, I had intended on an early evening with you,” Mycroft said, wrapping his scarf around his neck, “I find myself not in the mood for a night spent cuddling on the sofa.”

Greg’s steps faltered, “Oh?”

“Yes.” Mycroft met his eyes, coolly, burying his annoyance. “Don’t wait up.”

“Alright,” Greg said uncertainly, frowning as if hurt. “Um, bye, love.”

“Goodbye.” Mycroft ignored the little voice shrieking at him to tell his husband he loved him and closed the door behind him with a crisp click. Greg’s bewildered face floated in front of him. Mycroft nearly weakened. He called up his umbrage, stiffened his spine and departed.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Mycroft had seemed irritated. Greg thought about calling him, just to make sure everything was alright. Usually My was able to leave work life behind when he came through the door of their home, eager to just be domestic. Tonight he’d been so cold, and abrupt. Toying with his phone, Greg wandered into the lounge, restless. Unable to settle to telly, he finally sent off a text to his husband, telling him he hoped work wouldn’t keep him too late and that he would wait to start the Christmas movies until he was home.

The first of December always started off the festive season for them. They’d begin twenty-four days of classic and contemporary Christmas movies; each year they got a different advent calendar and shared the treat while cuddled on the sofa. This year it was a very swank specialty cheeses-of-the-world calendar, and they had looked forward to pairing My’s extensive wine collection with the different offerings.

Sighing sadly, Greg decided maybe he’d better heat up some leftovers for his meal and dip into the paperback he’d been reading. In the kitchen he was surprised to see two wine glasses and My’s swanky corkscrew on the bench. Normally Mycroft was very ordered and precise and didn’t leave clutter behind, not like Greg, who was a bit slapdash, even he would admit. Putting the things away, he pulled open the fridge, seeking leftovers. 

The advent calendar box was on a different shelf, the lid askew. Frowning, he peeked inside. His frown deepened, hurt and annoyance sweeping him. The first day’s square was empty! What the hell, Mycroft had just eaten the cheese without him?

Slamming the fridge door, he forgot all about his food. Snatching up his mobile, he fired off a salty text to his husband.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Mycroft raged into the house, barely remembering to stop and disarm the alarm system. Slamming the door, unmindful that it was nearly midnight, he raised his voice, “Gregory!”

Getting no answer, he ripped off his outer things, yelling again. Flinging his coat at the rack--and completely missing it--he stomped up the stairs, calling again for his husband. Nearing the head of the stairs, he saw the light in their room come on, and heard Greg’s sleepy, confused voice. “My?” He appeared a moment later, blinking sleepily. A smile started onto his face, and then suddenly faded. “Home at last?” He asked coolly.

“I got your text,” Mycroft said tightly. His mouth was pinched. “What is the meaning of this?”   
  
“Think it’s pretty evident,” Greg retorted, folding his arms across his chest. “You ate the cheese without me! Then you snarled at me and disappeared to your office for hours!” He threw his arms in the air.

Mycroft faltered, “I beg your pardon?  _ I _ ate the cheese? Oh no, it was you, Gregory David Lestrade!” He felt the pinch of hurt again, “It’s always something we do together.”

Greg’s eyes narrowed, “Holmes-Lestrade.” Then he frowned, “I didn’t eat the cheese.”

Mycroft nearly rolled his eyes, “I know that. You  _ are _ my husband.” He paused, “What do you mean, you didn’t eat the cheese?”

“What I said,” Greg said, sounding a little saucy. But his aggressively crossed arms dropped, and they studied one another for a minute. “Sherlock,” they spoke almost at the same time.

“Did you check the rest of the days?” Mycroft asked, dread growing. The cheese!

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Lounging on the sofa, Sherlock slowly fed John a piece of larcenous cheese. John nibbled at his fingers. “Mmm, you’re tastier than the cranberry brie.”

“You’re biased,” Sherlock fondly reprimanded his boyfriend, who was sprawled between his legs, head on Sherlock’s chest. He chewed his half, “You’re right though, this lacks pizzazz.”

“I liked the honeycomb and bleu cheese better,” John mused. He reached for his wine, “You do realize they’re going to get us back somehow, right?”

Sherlock was smug, “Indeed, but  _ we _ have eaten all the cheese, so we’re the clear victors!”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The case of stolen cookies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825397) by [Iolanfg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolanfg/pseuds/Iolanfg)




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